Vampire Hunter D: The White Prince
By clarion
"The Five Towns"
The sun hung low like a swollen red eye as an inky figure on a black cyborg horse paused at the lip of a steep bluff. The valley sweeping below him was already covered in shadow, with only the strange mountain rising from its center still ablaze with light. As the rider continued around the rim of the oddly circular valley, the sun passed behind the mountain. The shadow of a peculiar structure jutting from the peak swept across the rider's pale face, beneath the broad brim of a black hat. The horseman paused again, this time looking up instead of across the valley's lush farmland. A castle with white stone walls speared upwards from the mountain's summit, its towers like a crown of white thorns adorning the lonely peak.
The road cut through the valley rim at a steep angle, switching back several times before bringing the rider to the valley floor. The only entrance, the road was smooth and well maintained. In places it still bore the plastic-based pavement from its Noble origins, but human hands had since replaced most of the road with stone. At the valley floor it cut like a white incision across green pastures and fields thick with crops. The climate controllers still worked perfectly, providing a long, temperate growing season. It was little wonder people flocked to the area, despite the looming mountain and castle atop. Five towns thrived here, in fact. Spread equidistant around the peak, they had grown into small cities from the villages they had been long ago, when the castle was first built. No one remembered that time, of course, but anyone looking down into the valley could see the hand of the Nobility on the plans, laying out the roads interconnecting each town, separating each original village just so. Later generations of humanity had expanded and altered much of the original design, but the seed planted by the Nobles had grown true.
Five towns clustered around the base of the mountain like children sheltering in their mother's skirts: Argent Springs to the northeast; Petra in the northwest; Doncastle and Cliffside to the southeast and southwest, respectively; with the largest town to the north. Forzia, funneling all trade and travel in or out of the valley. Collectively, they were the Five Towns and the mountain rising from their center was called the Lost Peak on account of it being "lost" from its fellows, miles from the nearest mountain range. Ruling over them all with a mostly indifferent fist was an ancient Noble known as the White Prince.
The dark rider followed the pale road into a boisterous and bustling Forzia. Ordinary townsfolk in simple clothes mingled elbow to elbow with outlandishly dressed Hunters. Traders lined the wide main street with stalls and wagons, hawking wares from ordinary to exotic. A festival air filled the town, complete with music and dancing. Alcohol flowed abundantly from the town's taverns, and everyone celebrated. Like the chill aura that flowed from the dark rider, though, an undercurrent of danger lurked beneath the festive atmosphere, clear to anyone who paused long enough to listen.
The rider pressed through the throng, who parted around like water to let him pass then closed behind him as though he'd never been. His destination was a large hotel near the city's center. The blocky structure towered over Forzia's other, mostly low buildings, six floors of rooms with the ground floor dominated by a large bar that doubled as a meeting hall. Here the concentration of Hunters was thickest, the festivities' din faded, replaced by a battle-ready edge and the raucous voices of drinking Hunters.
Dismounting at the hotel's large stable, the rider entrusted his mount to a cluster of red-liveried stablehands, removing his saddlebags and slinging them casually over one shoulder. The fading light glimmered on the silver hilt of a long, curved sword strapped to his back. The dark figure entered the hotel, passing through the wide double doors. Behind him, the stableboys whispered to each other, wide-eyed, and once the black horse was securely stabled they gave it a wide berth.
Inside, the din skipped a beat as the black-cloaked figure entered, then continued as though it never stopped. Hunters filled the room, crammed around every table and lined up three-deep at the bar. More poured in through the double doors every minute. The heat of so much humanity was stifling, the noise—laughing, shouting, clinking glasses—deafening, and the miasma of smoke, sweat, leather, and gunpowder hung thick in the air.
The man in black pushed through the throng to the bar. In such a crowd, even his chill aura did little to ease his passage. A man in wolf skins bumped his arm, yelling "Sorry, mate!" before disappearing into the mass of people. A glance caught the bartender's attention, and the portly man strapped into a white apron approached, wiping sweat from his completely bald pate.
"A room, if you have any." The stranger's voice, like dark velvet, carried through the din with ease.
The bartender shook his head. "We've been full up for days, what with the contest and all. Something to drink?"
Before the stranger could turn away, another patron pressed into his side, trapping him at the bar. A slender arm draped with a lacy cuff slipped forward, and a hand gloved in brown leather shook an empty glass.
"Mineral water," a husky female voice said. The owner of the voice turned to the man in black towering over her. "Well, well. If it isn't the Hunter, D. You're late to the party, friend."
D turned to the woman leaning against the bar. She wore a form-fitting red vest and dun-colored leather pants tucked into tall, laced boots, with a lace-ruffled white blouse spilling out of the vest. Taking a fresh glass of mineral water from the bartender she gestured with her head towards the other side of the room. "Join me at my table, will you?" Without waiting for a response, she slipped into the crush. D followed like a tall shadow.
He caught up to her at a small table in one corner of the room. With a snap of her gloved fingers the woman cleared the group of young would-be Hunters, who slunk away with sheepish grins. The two seated themselves, and the throng, which had previously surrounded the table, unconsciously stepped away creating a bubble of space around the pair.
"I'm late, you say," D said.
The woman smiled over the rim of her glass. The warm electric lights glimmered in the deep chestnut hair spilling over her shoulders. In stark contrast to the rich color, a thick streak of white spread from a point at her hairline. A silvery scar sliced downward across her right eye, disappearing beneath a wide leather band decorated with silver filigree that covered her eye diagonally. Her remaining eye was a deep, clear green, and sparkled with obvious amusement. Despite the warmth of her gaze, her skin was pale, cold marble very similar to the man across the table. It marked them as a sort of kin, and explained why the table cleared so quickly.
"Indeed," she replied. "Most of the other Vampire Hunters have been here for days."
"Then you are here for the contest as well," D said, as a statement more than a question.
"Fifty million dalas is no prize to sneeze at," the woman said with a shrug. "Oh! I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself." She stood and sketched a brief bow rather than extending a hand for D to refuse to shake. "Marcella, Vampire Hunter."
"I've heard of you," D said.
"Highest praise," Marcella responded. "I'm flattered." She returned to her seat. "Everyone has heard of you, of course. I honestly didn't expect you to show up here, though. Something like this," she gestured with one gloved hand, taking in the throng of other Hunters with a dismissive gesture. "There's too much spectacle."
Reaching inside a pocket on her vest, Marcella removed a small metal case. It opened with a slight pop, revealing tightly packed cigarettes rolled with dark brown paper. She lit one with a match, leaving the case on the table. Taking a long drag, she exhaled fragrant smoke pungent with clove and other spices. "Sorry," she said as smoke curled up from the cigarette. "It's my vice. Not all of us are made of razor control and iron willpower like you. I started smoking to distract myself from…other cravings. It works well." Marcella examined the small, dark brown tube before taking another pull. "Maybe because of the oral fixation these things create."
D ignored her digression and the smoke drifting between them and responded to her earlier statement. "Then you think this hunt is beneath my dignity."
"I can't help but wonder—why are you here?" Marcella asked. "This is a circus, and all things considered there are worse Nobles you could be hunting."
"I have personal reasons for attending this hunt," D answered, and from the flat tone of his voice Marcella knew she would get no more answer than that.